


Late Awakening

by wishfulmish



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel & Sam Winchester Friendship, Castiel in the Bunker, Emotionally Repressed Dean, First Kiss, Fluff, Human Castiel, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Sam Ships It, cases mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 11:26:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3808636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishfulmish/pseuds/wishfulmish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's certain things Sam should and shouldn't have to put up with. A morning grouch of a brother and his awkward relationship with his now-human not-boyfriend falls into the latter category.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> This is for [Sierra](http://dean-hoath-of-cas.tumblr.com/), because we talked about how Dean and Cas would interact in the Bunker in the mornings at some point, and then this was born. Set in my own headcanon 'verse where Gadreel healed up Sam and went on his merry way, Kevin lived, they're still after Metatron but aside from that all is well. Hope you like it!

Sam’s morning routine was in no way set. True, after discovering the Bunker it had established a little more order, become less of a hurried procedure with varying tasks completed in varying sequences and more of a habitual shuffle around the place, familiarity guiding him from room to room until he eventually found himself sitting at the table in the kitchen, laptop opened before him, scrolling through pages in search of some tidbit of information that would lead them to a nearby case, occasionally munching on a piece of toast but more often than not awaiting Dean to emerge from his cherished cave and cook up breakfast. They’d formed an agreement – since Dean’s newfound culinary skills, coupled with his thorough enjoyment of whipping up a dish whenever he had the chance, made the job of preparing breakfast one of pride and thinly veiled glee, he was allowed to create the same meal for his fellow occupants of the Bunker, so long as he made an attempt to add at least _one_ healthy element to it four out of seven weekdays. He’d put up a meagre fight, of course, grumbling and throwing out alternative forms of the term ‘health freak’, but in the end even he had to admit it was a fair deal. Thus Sam found himself with something fresh and homemade placed in front of him nearly every morning, and a satisfied brother grinning at him over his fork, smugness not grating against his nerves nearly as much as it should.

But this was only a minor part in the beginning of his day. These were still times of mayhem. With the Earth full of fallen angels, lost and confused and with no way home, with Metatron still in charge up top and regular monsters still trolling the streets, not to mention the goddam _King of Hell_ in their basement, they couldn’t afford to sit around and play happy families for very long. That was partly the reason why Sam couldn’t settle; the ever present threat that lingered on their doorway, forcing him to stay on his toes until they bled. He didn’t feel like they could rest, didn’t feel like they _should._ And wasn’t that just the cruellest of ironies, he thought to himself as sat himself down and started up his laptop, foot bouncing off the table leg. That he, who’d sought the domestic life, who’d been the first to step away in search of it, who’d actively encouraged Dean to do the same – _he_ was the one shying away from it, knowing he could no longer fit, was the last jigsaw piece with an end snipped off. He sighed and drew his gaze back to the task at hand, tapping idly at the keys as he waited.

Time passed by in a blur of opened tabs and lukewarm coffee and frustratingly incompetent search engines and key words that led him to all the wrong places. Some days he’d strike lucky on the first try; others, he had to burrow. The incidents themselves were easy enough to fine – the problem was discovering if they warranted the ‘case’ title. Rare occurrences although they had been, there had been times when they’d arrived, fully kitted out to scope the place and gank their monster, only to find it had been a human crime after all. And of course, those few cases when the humans involved were more than worthy of being members of the monster family.

So far, he’d only been able to come up with some suspicious goings-on in Bloomington, Illinois. Three dead, suspected murderers nowhere to be found. According to reports from the families of the suspects, the people in question had disappeared for several days, only to return without mentioning their leave, and seeming a little off, though when asked they couldn’t pinpoint exactly why. He chewed on his lip, scrolling down further. Could be anything from shifter to ghouls. Still scrolling, he reached out for his cup and brought it to his lips, only to find the contents empty. Scowling, he placed it back down and hauled himself up, flipping the machine and leaning on the counter. His eyes bounced about the room, finally coming to rest on the clock on the far wall. It took a moment for him to register the time, and when he did, he nearly knocked the coffee machine to the floor.

He blinked a couple of times to insure clarity of vision, and thought, for a moment, that maybe it had stopped. But no, the second hand was still ticking, a quarter of the way round its journey. And there rested the big hand, tip just touching the middle of the zero on the ten, its smaller counterpart hanging out down by the six. But that couldn't be right. Half ten, half ten in the _morning._

And Dean was nowhere in sight.

Sam thought back, mentally calculating the amount of hours he'd been up already. He was always awake and about before Dean – apparently, the memory foam had to receive some vigorous coaxing before it would release him – but that came with the guarantee that his brother would follow soon after. In all their time living here thus far, Dean had never stayed comatose past nine, no matter how much he complained of weariness during the remains hours of the day. It just wasn’t in his nature. And Sam had been out here since quarter past eight at the latest, meaning there was no way Dean could have snuck past.

Mechanically pouring himself another cup, he returned to his previous position at the table, inwardly hoping literary precedent was unreliable and he wouldn’t enter Dean’s room later to find him, A) Missing, without a stray hair to show he was even there in the first place, or B) Drenched in blood with an axe sticking out of his chest. And although he knew the chance of either of those occurring was next to nothing, seeing as the Bunker was pretty much the safest haven around, he decided none-the-less that if Dean didn’t emerge after another thirty minutes, he was barging in there and dragging him out. They had work to do, after all.

He re-focused on the computer screen, jiggling the arrow to bring back the picture, and not three minutes later heard a door slam. His head jerked up just in time to see Dean march into the kitchen, head down and hair a mess, heading straight for the cupboard and yanking out the frying pan with unnecessary force. “Mornin’,” he grunted as he began heating up the pan, turning to pull the bacon out of the fridge.

“Uh, yeah,” Sam replied, shock still clinging to his tongue. He hurriedly shook it off, watching his brother stomp about the place like a bull in a china shop, displaying none of his usual reverence towards the kitchen. “Sleep well?”

Dean paused then, turning on his heel to shoot Sam a hard, bewildered stare. “Since when do you ask crap like that?”

Sam shrugged. “Dunno. Just…wondering?”

Dean scoffed and turned back around. “Yeah, well, for your information, Curious George, I slept like a freakin’ baby. Happy now?”

Sam didn’t deign to respond to that verbally, instead rolling his eyes at his brother and his mercurial disposition, ignoring him in favour of piling all of his attention on the case at hand. Dean finished placing the bacon in a pan and walked over, peering over Sam’s shoulder at the screen. “What we got so far?”

“A couple of murders, the accused acting oddly beforehand, reported to have been missing for days prior to the killing – I thought maybe ghouls at first, there’s been a history of them in that State, but the bodies found were completely intact.”

“Maybe they didn’t wanna snack on ‘em,” Dean suggested. “Maybe they just got in the way, noticed too much.”

“Maybe.”

“Haven’t we got bigger things to be worrying about, anyway? The Heavenly Host taking a permanent vacation in our luxury, terrestrial beach house and all that?” He’d moved back to the stove, starting to prepare the sausages. Sam just shrugged again.

"Well, we haven't got any new leads, Kevin's practically conked out from all the excessive tablet reading he's been doing recently, and with Cas being -" Dean's face twisted into a grimace at the mention of the former angel's name, hand curling tight round the edge of the counter, and Sam quickly amended, "With him being the way he is, there's nothing else for us to do at the moment. So I figured, instead of sitting on our hands until something crops up, we get on with our job in the meantime."

"Makes sense." Dean opened the fridge door again, rummaged around inside for a bit, then stuck his head out and asked, "Want eggs?"

Sam opened his mouth to answer, but before he could even get the first word out a voice from the doorway said, "I would love to try some eggs, Dean."

For the second time that morning Sam's head shot up, and he was greeted with the sight of Cas hovering in the doorway, looking momentarily uncertain as to whether he was allowed to cross the threshold. He seemed to come to the conclusion that it was acceptable, and took a few steps forward, propping himself on the table corner, a strand of dark, mussed hair falling into his eyes.

But that wasn’t what had Sam openly gawking.

“Cas,” Dean choked out, doing an Oscar worthy bullfrog imitation, eyes looking to pop out of his head, mouth opening and closing like an electronic door on the blink. “What…what the _hell,_ man?”

Cas tracked Dean’s gazed down to his body, to where the skin was showing – which would be almost all of it, apart from his crotch and thighs. He’d entered wearing nothing but a pair of navy boxers, tanned flesh visible, muscles now free of material constraint. He was pretty damn toned, Sam noticed, and found himself briefly entertaining the idea of how he’d fair of the two of them decided to square off, now that Cas was human. Dean, meanwhile, was continuing his amphibian impression.

Cas’ eyebrows drew together, quizzical. “Is this not acceptable?”

Dean’s lips began to move, probably preparing to toss out a cold, hard _No,_ but Sam stepped in before he could. This was Cas’ body now, after all – he’d informed them of Jimmy’s death recently when Dean inquired as to what happened to his soul when Cas became human, something Sam had already guessed – and if this was how he was learning to find comfort in it, so be it. He’d worn it for a while, of course, but Sam got the feeling that even then he’d never really considered it _his._ As long as he kept this...partial nudity to the inside of the Bunker, Sam was cool with it. It wasn’t like it was anything he hadn’t seen before.

So he interrupted Dean before he’d even began, saying, “No, Cas, it’s totally fine,” and tacking a smile on the end. Cas displayed a flash of hesitance which was immediately replaced with a mirror of his expression. He moved over to Dean and Sam’s brother swallowed, purposefully looking at anything that _wasn’t_ the ex-angel in front of him.

“Need any help?” Cas asked.

Dean shook his head. “Nah, I’m fine. Go and sit. Grab a coffee.”

Cas followed the latter part of the instructions, moving to the machine and fiddling with it before finding the ON switch. Dean returned to his previous task, shooting Sam a spiteful glare as he did so, which Sam returned with the type of asshole-ish smirk only a younger brother could produce.

“So,” he began, once a silence had settled over the room. “Sleep well, Cas?”

“Oh, this again,” Dean grumbled, at the same time Cas said, “Very well Sam, thank you. My bed was wonderfully soft.”

Sam grinned. “Sure beats the couch, huh?”

Cas had reached the Bunker in what could only be described as a state of decay, clothes ragged, unshaven, body already displaying telltale signs of malnutrition. They’d fed him and ensured he was washed and hydrated, Dean even offering up some of his old clothes to use until they went shopping for new ones. To his brother’s chagrin, Cas had lost his trenchcoat on the trek over here, and had to swipe some clothes from a laundromat. After they’d made sure he was well taken care of, they’d retired to their own respective beds, assuming he’d pick a room and do the same. What they hadn’t taken into account was apparently Cas thought he needed permission to claim something for himself, and so unbeknownst to them had spent several nights on the couch, only being discovered two nights ago when Sam had got up late to fetch a glass of water. With the cricks his neck had been collecting, it hadn’t taken much coaxing to get him into his own room.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Cas declared, acquiring himself a mug.

Dean grunted, yanking another packet of bacon from the fridge. "Guess you'll be wanting some of this, too, huh?"

Cas hadn't shown up for breakfast previously. They'd been on a hunt for most of his stay so far, leaving him to get some R&R on his own terms, but for the time they'd been there the only evidence of his presence during these hours had been some missing pieces of fruit and a note telling them he'd gone out walking. He mumbled a confirmation and Dean dove back in, presumably to root out some more sausages.

Sam hit a few random keys on the laptop, a failed attempt to break this second silence, slightly denser than its predecessor. Cas shifted his feet, passing the mug in between his hands, until finally his eyes alighted on the cooking foods. "Dean, I think you might want to lower the heat."

There was no audible response, and so Cas moved forward, at the same time Dean ducked out of the fridge. Their bodies came flush together; Cas made a startled sound, whereas Dean just froze, breath hitching, limbs locked in place.

And that was when Sam _saw_ it.

If he hadn't been paying such close attention, it might have escaped his notice. But with the way their sudden switch in position drew him in, he saw it all. He saw the way Dean's throat worked as he swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing, tongue darting out to briefly brush his lips. It was done with an almost laudable subtly, a strategic passiveness that was completely ruined by the way Dean's eyes openly googled Cas' bare skin, raking up and down his form, visibly drinking in all there was to take like a child let wild in a candy store, greedy fists grabbing sweets from every conceivable place and piling them up at the register. He appeared hungry, enraptured, and there was no way in hell Sam was checking that particular area, but by the look on his face – a look Sam knew all too well from his teenage years, had spotted himself wearing in awkward class photos where the torture device known as alphabetical order had placed him beside the prettiest girl in his grade – Dean may have been struggling with an unforeseen friend popping up to say hi.

Gross. Just plain gross. And in the _kitchen_ , of all places. He repressed a shudder.

Cas, for his part, mostly just looked confused.

Dean jerked back, almost knocking the fridge over with the force of it. He righted himself hurriedly, though not so much that it went unnoticed. Cas stepped back too, hands held out in a very human gesture of surrender. "I'm sensing my ministrations are unwelcome."

"Damn straight," Dean spat.

Sam glanced from one to the other, from the boiling anger to the disappointment (and was that a flash of hurt?) in retreat. His mind caught on far too quickly for this to be a sudden realisation, because he'd known, deep down, it had writhed and tugged at his attention, but with little to no success. Now, though, he was a live witness, the transition from latent to blatant clear.

And here was a chance to act.

"There's other ways you could help out, y'know, Cas."

The former angel's head snapped towards him so fast Sam was surprised he didn't get whiplash. He felt a grin form, feigning ignorance towards Dean's frantic gestures and silent pleas for his brother to just shut his trap. "How about joining us on a hunt?"  
                    

* * *

  
Dean refused to speak to Sam for the whole nine hour drive there, and only engaged with him when it was of the absolute necessity during the length of their stay, something which just made Sam smirk and tease and laugh behind his back, seeing as this also meant he was stuck dedicating all his remaining time to the third member of their team – Cas.

Despite this, the majority trip was pretty much uneventful. They went through the usual motions: suited up, asked around, found out the vic's family and friends had nothing more helpful to add. They scouted round the local cemeteries – double checked Evergreen Memorial to be sure – but no sign of missing bodies or disturbed graves. Ghouls were seeming less and less likely, so eyes were instead peeled for the shed Shifter skin, silver kept in the palm. Nothing made so much as a peep, and they were at a loss until Cas ventured out on the third night in search of some takeout.

And of course he – the one who was still, technically speaking, in recovery, who’d never taken on a case without his angel mojo at hand – _he_ was the one jumped in the alley.

Despite his ailments, Cas wasn't a wobbly pillar, toppling from the slightest shove. From the way he told it, he'd gained the upper hand pretty easily, through combination of hand to hand combat and his silver blade, which, although drew blood, didn't deal the damage it should to shapeshifter kin. In the end he'd dragged the thing, bloody, wheezing and practically on its deathbed, back to the motel. It had died not ten minutes after.

"Doppelganger," Dean growled as he stuffed his things into his duffel bag the next day. "The hell did we not think of that?"

Sam shrugged from where he leant against the wall, already packed. "We didn't have much info to go on. Plus, all the lore says it should be pretty much incorporeal, and that there should only be one per person."

"So maybe it's right. Or the latter part, anyway. Maybe there's more of the freaks crawling about the place."

"Dean, it changed into its past victims right in front of us. They can only transform into people they've killed. What more proof do you need?"

Dean slammed the bag down hard on the bed, causing the mattress to squeak in protest. Sam's head shot up, startled by the outburst. "Oh, I dunno, Sammy, maybe a handwritten letter of apology, a signed note saying, _I'm the only killer round here_?" His hands were darting out, the sharp gestures he made only when his temperament was getting close to the boil. "But oh yeah, that wouldn't mean anything, would it? 'Cause believe it or not, monsters lie!"

Sam watched the fury growing in his eyes, bursting into flame at the end like a stricken match. There was no way he was getting this worked up over some monster, especially one they'd already ganked. If it had gotten to anyone else, maybe, but they – or rather, Cas – had taken it down before it could commit anymore murders. He opened his mouth to broach the subject, but someone else bet him to it.

“Dean.” Up until this point Cas had been silent, lurking in the corner, more of a creeper without his coat than with it. He took a step forward, bright eyes betraying a flash of concern. “I understand you’re upset, but there’s no reason to take it out on your brother. Perhaps if you’d just tell us the true source of your distress –”

“Oh, you wanna know the source, do you?” He whirled around, face creased with anger. “Well, guess what? It’s _you,_ Cas.”

Cas blinked. “Me?”

“Yeah, _you_. What the fuck did you think you were doing, going off on your own like that?”

Cas narrowed his eyes, hand coming to rest on the bedpost. “I was fetching our dinner – Dean, it isn’t like I _knew_ the creature would be there.”

“You still knew it was out there, somewhere.” Dean moved from the side of his bed, circling round, stopping when he and Cas were almost to-to-toe. Sam had to resist taking an involuntary step back – not that it would’ve worked, with the wall behind him and all. “Cas, man, you’re still recovering. We don’t need you testing your limits this early on – hell, you shouldn’t even be on this case!” He ended the sentence with a pointed glare towards Sam, who sensed this wasn’t the best time to protest.

“And yet I seem to have handled the problem surprisingly well for someone you believe to be so convalescent.” The wrinkles on his brows deepened, the squint which usually conveyed confusion now becoming one of restrained annoyance. “I’ve lived a thousand of your lifetimes, fought in wars the intensity of which you wouldn’t believe –”

“When you were an _angel_ , dude. And I hate to break it to you, but the wings, the halo, the heavenly light of death – they’ve been revoked. You’re not some fancy-smancy cloud-walking tactician anymore. You’re _human_ , and that means you’ve got to take care of your-damn-self!”

“And yet,” Cas seethed, “you appear to be doing that for me. I’m perfectly aware of my state. I’m not a child, Dean.”

“Clearly.” Dean snorted. “At least some kids are capable of doing what they’re told.”

Sam sucked in breath, eyes darting to Cas’ fists in preparation of the punch to come. But they remained in place, clenched at Cas’ side. He glared at Dean, heated and sharp, before shoving past him, picking up his bag from where it sat at the door. “I’ll wait in the car,” he said, tone completely cool and at odds with his expression. The door slammed shut.

Sam sighed, looking to where his brother stood, form now sagging against the bed frame. “Nice going, dude.”

“Shaddup,” Dean growled.

* * *

The days following were laced with tension, to the point where even Kevin was tip-toeing around the house. Cas and Dean avoided any and all interaction, which meant Sam was ladled with a pissy brother for one half of the day and a pissy ex-angel for the other. Dean was now getting up even earlier than usual, before even Sam, slamming pots and pans around by the time he made it into the kitchen. Cas, by comparison, wouldn’t emerge until after one, visibly ruffled until he got hold of his coffee, shuffling round like a zombie with a hangover.

Sam was reaching his wit’s end.

It was sometime during the middle of the week that things started taking a turn for the worst, which Sam hadn’t even thought possible. And then he walked in the library to find Cas lounging by the table, wearing nothing but his boxers like that morning that seemed so long ago.

Dean followed after, promptly dropping the sandwich he’d held in one hand.

“Shit,” he muttered, turned tail, and left.

Cas beamed.

From then on out, Cas seemed to have decided any more than one layer of clothing was a burden. He practically paraded around in his underwear, smiling at Dean like their previous argument had never occurred. And although Sam was totally cool with it as long as Little Cas stayed locked away, Dean became more and more irritable, eyes permanently glued to the floor, throat constantly working and hands fisted by his sides. Sam saw the way he sidestepped Cas in the hallways, kept his distance in the kitchen, sat at opposite ends of the table – and yet somehow, they still ended up touching, an accidental brushing of fingers here, an involuntary bumping of shoulders there. Whenever this happened Dean would jump about a foot in the air, hackles raising, while Cas would appear merely puzzled, blinking up at Sam’s brother in search of an explanation. It was enough to drive anyone nuts, and Sam began to envy Kevin his excuses for escape, muttering something about excess annotations he’d claimed to have found at the end of the tablet.

It was with great relief that he announced their next case, this time located in the neighbouring State of Oklahoma. Some dumb kids had been messing round on a river terrace – drunk off their heads, no doubt – resulting in one of them getting pushed into the water. On the surface it looked like your regular drowning, victim too intoxicated to manage so much as the doggy paddle, yet the eye witnesses were claiming he was one of the two sober people present – the designated driver, in fact – and that it hadn’t been a simple slip and fall. No, even the remaining teetotaller was adamant that he had been forcibly held under. Further investigation into the area lead Sam to a dock nearby, where, some years previous, a man had also drowned. Not much else was known about him, since he’d been quite the recluse, apart from that he was your friendly neighbourhood fishing junkie (because apparently, those existed). Despite the ambiguity surrounding it, it still seemed a case worth looking into, though maybe Sam was biased on account of all the discomfiture he was experiencing in their current location.

Against his better judgement, he still invited Cas along. Dean didn’t look too pleased, but was too busy keeping his eyes on anything but their friend’s well built, runner’s body to put up much of a fight. It wouldn’t be fair to Cas to abandon him now since he’d made such an effort to help last time, and besides, if one hunt had torn Cas and Dean’s relationship, maybe another could sew it back together again.

That didn’t end up being the case, though no more damage was sustained throughout. They were finished within the day, and it was with great trepidation that Sam hoped off the last step and into the library, wincing as the door slammed above.

Cas came to stand beside him, with what he presumed to be a mirror image of his own concern plastered on his face.

“You alright up there?” he called up.

There was a series of heavy thuds, each one accompanied by a simultaneous squelching sound, and then his brother was standing in front of him. Or at least something that bore a vague semblance to him. The thing clenched mud-covered fists by its side, glaring out at the both of them through a carefully sculpted mask of dirt and algae and flecks of stone, a single strand of grass pasted to its left cheek. A drop of water slid off the tip of its nose and onto the ground between its feet.

“ _This,_ ” Dean declared, shaking his body out to indicate the topic of conversation, “is fucking _gross._ ”

Sam gave a solemn shake of his head, turning to Cas as he stage-whispered, “Should have had his ears on. I’ve been saying that for years.”

“No!” Dean snarled before Cas could reply; the other man was struggling to contain his laughter, poker face forming an increasing number of cracks. “ _You_ don’t get to joke about this. This is your fault!”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, _seriously._ If you’d have just told that chick to keep her brat away from the river –”

“We were trying to question her, Dean, what was I supposed to say, ‘Don’t go down there, there’s a vengeful spirit on the loose?’ _She_ was the one laughing at those rumours and saying the kid who’d drowned was just tipsy, it took me a hell of a lot of convincing just to get her to show me the old dude’s fishing rod, let alone burn it.”

Dean scowled, shaking out his soaping arms and letting some of the water fly onto Sam. It just made his grin return. “You could’ve at least let me wash up in a restroom along the way,” he grumbled.

“Oh yeah, why didn’t I think of that?” Sam quipped, giving the cursory eye roll. “Maybe ‘cause a soaking wet dude trudging into a store in the latest hours of the night might be viewed with a little suspicion?”

This response was met with a deep growl and bared teeth, but he could tell that his brother had already conceded. “I’m gonna go take a shower,” was the only warning they were given before he stormed past, shaking his head along the way and spraying them both with a shower of muddied liquid. Sam leapt back, a torrent of swears bursting from his lips, but Cas stood his ground, smiling serenely.

“I recommend washing behind your for total and effective cleanliness,” he said without a hint of sarcasm.

“Fuck off.” Dean made to continue his journey, then stopped, rotating until he was facing Cas head-on. “Actually, the hell am I blaming Sammy for this? Not that he ain’t at fault –” A point which he drove home by sending a supremely judgemental glare Sam’s way – “but you were right there and you didn’t do a thing!”

“I was a little caught up in fighting for my own life.” The malice dripping from his tone surprised Sam; his line of vision shot to Cas, the rigidity in his stance, the way his fingers had shot forward to curl around Dean’s wrist. After this long period of edgy silence, he’d assumed awkwardness had stepped up to fill the place anger had already vacated.

Dean’s eyes flickered down to where Cas gripped him, then back up again, holding firm to his stare. It took over half a minute for him to break, which he did with a ceremonious jerk of his hand and a grumbled, “Selfish dick.”

Cas didn’t respond as he marched away.

It was only when Dean’s footsteps had receded did he slump, hip braced against the table and fingertips pressed to his forehead. Sam watched him massage at the creases starting to form, eyes squeezed shut, mouth taut and unrelenting. He lifted a hand uncertainly and held it above the general area of Cas’ shoulder before letting it fall back to his side. “You okay?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever come to understand your brother’s line of reasoning.” The words were muffled by his palm, which was now pressed over his jaw. “It’s one thing to be capricious; it’s a different thing entirely to place blame on others for it.”

“He’s just having a rough day,” Sam reassured, though inwardly he was itching to quiz Cas on why Dean’s moodswings suddenly affected him so much. “You know what a germaphobe he is, he’ll probably be back to average asshole-ishness once he’s sparkly clean.”

Cas scowled and looked about to reply, but was interrupted by a decidedly teenage voice from the doorway. “Hey!” Kevin called, voice scratchy and rough with sleep, “Dean just slammed the bathroom door so hard I’m pretty sure they heard the wood crack a couple of States over. What’s his deal?”

“He’s pissed because Cas got him wet,” Sam blurted before he’d fully comprehended what he was saying. When he did, he made no move to take the words back.

Kevin’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Not that I wasn’t expecting that sooner or later, but TMI, dude.”

There was a gusty sigh as the ex-angel stepped forward. “He means Dean blames me for his current saturated state,” Cas clarified. “Or blames me in part, anyway. We were assailed by a spirit near the river and he was pushed in. Needless to say he was…not all that pleased.”

“No kidding.” The kid snorted. “Well, I’ll leave you guys to that. Just try to keep it down, okay? Even Prophets of the Lord need some beauty sleep.”

There was a confirmative chorus and then Kevin disappeared once more, taking a good deal of their energy with him. Sam blinked and then he was sitting at the table, chin cupped in one hand, eyes mapping out the grooves embedded into the wood, trying to discern the natural from the manmade. Or rather, knife-made.

“Can this all be traced back to the other morning?” He didn’t mean for the question top leap out like that; neither did he mean for it to sound so resigned. Either way it did both, regardless of his wishes.

“You could say that.” Cas didn’t expand on this, and Sam steeled himself for the sheer amount of cajoling he was about to attempt.

“Look, I know you and Dean have this – this profound bond or whatever, but I’m your friend too, Cas. And out of the two of us, when it comes to this stuff, I’m the more likely to listen. I get if you’re not up for this discussion, if Dean’s imprinted his ‘no feelings’ rule on you too deeply, but -”

“He doesn’t see me as capable of adjusting.”

It wasn’t what Sam had expected to hear, but then seeing as his expectations hadn’t really existed in the first place, it wasn’t too much of a shocker. He sat back as Cas carried on, “It’s a constant extreme in either direction – either I display a part of myself he’d never thought about seeing, something relaxed and closely tied with his image of the mundane, and he reacts as if it weren’t my right, or he treats me like a feeble, hapless infant in need of perpetual supervision from the veteran hunters – the experts. There is no in between. To his eyes, I’m either Castiel, the good soldier, the blind follower, the angel with a grand total of two emotions to his name and a place to be other than my current dwelling; or I’m Castiel the fallen one, wings clipped, morale broken, incapable of performing simple tasks to take care of myself and still in a desperate search for guidance. I’ll never be fully human to him, hunter material. I’ll never settle into the life you’ve carved.”

Tongue-tied was an expression he’d never taken too literally, but now, sitting before Cas’ revelation, he felt as if that described accurately what had taken place. His tongue had twisted and coiled the longer Cas spoke until it formed a perfect knot, one that would take hours to unravel, though not for lack of trying. Words evaded him, and so he let actions take over; although he was usually the expert at verbal comforts, he couldn’t locate any that would apply to Cas. So he reached out and grabbed the former angel’s shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze the same way Dean had done when they’d been yea high and Sam had returned home with tears clinging to his lashes for any number of reasons. Of course, he’d always followed that up with a hug, but the obstruction of the table made that option a little difficult.

“Dean’s stupid,” Sam said finally, and nearly laughed when Cas’ automatic reaction was to open his mouth to protest. “Yeah, he’s really smart, but he’s also really, really stupid. Living, breathing oxymoron, I know.” He leaned forward to deliver his words directly to Cas; he could feel the sprigs of understanding start to grow, the insight into why Cas had been so facetious in response to his and Dean’s argument, showing his body off with total lack of care, claiming ownership of it and shoving that fact in Dean’s face. “He’s blind to things he doesn’t want to see. I don’t even know if it’s by choice anymore, if it’s not just some inbuilt defence mechanism. Either way, it’s there. And I kept quiet for so long growing up, about how that lifestyle wore on me, how much…how _desperately_ I wanted to leave, that by the time I finally made my move, he’d convinced himself it was just a phase. That I hadn’t brought it up before, and so it must have been some sudden rebellious urge, something I’d act on and quickly grow tired with.” He sighed, pushing a stray lock away from his face. “And in all honesty, there were times when I wondered if that was exactly what I was doing. Like a kid who runs away from home in a fit of pique, only to wait at the end of the road for their parents to come pick them up.”

Cas was watching him now with rapt attention, fingers unconsciously digging into the table. Sam thought he looked haggard, his appearance regressed back to the state it had been in when they first found him. “What I’m saying is, don’t wait until the last minute. Talk to him. And don’t let him push you away. Look, I know it’s hard to get through his thick skull sometimes – hell, I know that better than nearly anyone – but you should try, at least. Tell him how you feel about – about everything.”

He wasn’t sure if could be any less subtle with the phrasing, but then, when it came to this sort of thing, he’d noticed Cas could be as oblivious as Dean. The moment they got together would be one he’d rejoice about so loudly he’d give the former choirs of Heaven a run for their money – once he’d vacated the room, of course.

Cas looked him straight in the eyes, a small smile spreading from the crinkles in their corners to encompass his whole face, basking it in a glow that could almost be seen as a remnant of the Grace his body had once held. The younger Winchester wasn’t about to go stumbling head-over-heels for that smile like his brother, but he had to admit it would be nice to glimpse it more often, to share this camaraderie with someone outside of family. A thought he quickly erased, because by this point, family was the only way he could think to describe Cas. To Sam he was quickly becoming a close friend, bordering on brother, though whether that turned out to be brother-in-law or not depending on how the results of this conversation panned out.

“Thank you for the advice, Sam,” Cas told him, genuine, “it’s well noted. But…” He cast his eyes around as if afraid something would climb from behind the bookshelves, an intruder prying on their conversation and just waiting for a sentence to snag on, a secret to reveal. After a further second of inspection he brought his gaze back to Sam and said, “I have something to tell you.”

And of course in the manner of the working universe in was then they were greeted with their second interruption, a long, satisfied sigh and a brother striding into the room. Dean’s smirk was not lessened but the damp hair sending the occasional droplet onto his face, nor the fluffy white towel wrapped snuggly around his waist and tied in a neat knot at the side. Sam merely rolled his eyes and faced Cas, expecting to see a snarky comment forming on his companion’s lips, but instead met with the sight of his jaw dropping so quickly he was surprised it didn’t smack off the table.

Surely Cas had seen Dean like this before. True, he tended to cover up with his robe most of the time, but Sam could still remember instances of him wandering round in a towel or lounging on the couch in his underwear, and having to bark at him to _show some decency, dammit._ But thinking back on it, he couldn’t picture Cas present during any of that. So maybe this was the first time.

Dean sauntered up and tossed Cas a wink, giving a little turn to show off. “Squeaky clean, huh? Took me a bit to get all the grime out from everywhere, but hey, at least only one of us had to get their hands dirty.” The grin he shot Cas made him visibly tense, fingers curling at the table edge. Dean took no notice and braced both palms flat against the wooden surface. “It all seemed kinda OTT for some stupid fish, though. I mean, one shiny trout got away, big whoop. No need to jump in a river over it.”

“He’d spent most of his attempting to capture that one creature, Dean. I hardly think the loss of life’s work is something to be mocked.” Cas folded his arms, quietly seething.

Dean laughed. “Oh, what, now you’re feeling sorry for him? ‘Cause you didn’t seem all that bothered when I nearly met the same fate!” He paused and waited for Cas’ retort, but the other man remained stoic, face impassive, not deigning him with a response. Dean scoffed and spun round to him. “Anyway, Sammy agrees with me, don’t cha?”

“I’d rather not get involved in this.”

He received a scowl in returned, a manifestation of betrayal at the lack of brotherly support. Sam probably would’ve been graced with a scathing speech in attempt to showcase the error of his ways, but the only thing that came out of Dean’s mouth when he re-opened it was a high pitched yelp.

He whirled on Cas, eyes wide and furious, and Sam knew that if he’d been a dog his mouth would’ve been foaming. As it was he let out a growl. “ _What. The Hell. Was that_.”

Cas blinked up innocently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Dude, you can’t just – you don’t – you don’t _do that._ ”

“Do what, Dean?” the former angel prompted, still maintaining his air of confusion. Dean, meanwhile, was floundering, his mouth flopping open only to snap right back up, hands leaping to gesticulate meaningless shapes and patterns.

“Do…do…that was my _ass,_ Cas. You don’t just slap another dude on the _ass._ ”

“Really?” Cas’ left brow shot up. “I was never informed of this rule.” He leant forward, cupping his chin in both hands and smiling a broad, dovelike smile. “Please, tell me more.”

“I don’t need to _tell_ you anything, it’s just given! It’s a thing, an arbitrary thing, like…like…Sam, some help here.”

Sam held up both hands. “Not involved, remember?”

His brother cursed under his breath and ran a quick hand through his still damp hair. “Look, Cas, I know you’re new to all this, but there’s just things that guys don’t do to other guys, okay? Like what you did there. You don’t slap their ass, you don’t watch porn in a room full of ‘em, you _definitely_ don’t drop the soap when some particularly hungry looking ones are nearby, and you don’t –”

“Sleep in the same bed as them?”

Dean looked momentarily thrown, stepping away from the table with one hand flapping in the air in search of another form of balance when his pupils grew large and he appeared to catch on, a steady blush creeping up his neck. Sam, however, was still miles behind.

He darted his gaze from his brother to his best friend, baffled. “Dean? What’s he mean?”

“Cas,” Dean warned, but Cas’ profile was already brightening, eyes taking on the dark sort of gleam.

“Oh, just something I was going to tell you earlier.” He slid himself around in his chair, mouth fixed in an upwards curl. “But Dean, why don’t you do the honours?”

Dean mumbled something incoherent, turning on his heels and looking to bolt.

But Sam didn’t need to ask. Sam had realised it in the second between the looks they’d shared, the way Dean averted his gaze, shy in a sense he’d never been, the pink tinge to his cheeks that bordered on rosy. He looked to Cas for confirmation, and a practically indiscernible nod was all the answer he needed. “You didn’t tell me Cas was staying in Room 11.”

“It wasn’t knowledge I felt like sharing,” he bit out.

And then Cas was standing, a swift fury to his movements Sam hadn’t witnessed since the time when the end was looming, when the best outlook for his fate was to spend eternity caged up with the Devil and his Righteous brother, where the question of who was worse had an impossible answer. He drew up to his full height and glowered, and for a split second Sam swore he brought the might of Heaven with him. “Don’t you dare be ashamed of this, Dean Winchester. Don’t presume to tell what is and isn’t acceptable and then hide from an act as natural as the forestry outside. I have nothing against your lessons. I would be thrilled to hear your opinion on what humanity means to you, but this in no way decrees that I will accept it. I am my own person now. Not Heaven’s, not Purgatory’s, and most certainly not yours.”

Dean balked, shooting backwards, hands flying up in a gesture of hasty surrender. “I never said you couldn’t be who you wanted.”

“But you surely act like it.” There was a sudden flicker in his anger, and then a movement like a bulb draining out, energy slowly ebbing away. He stepped forward, laying a hand on Dean’s shoulder, and to Sam’s surprise Dean made no move to push it away. “You need to accept that, for the foreseeable future, I’m a member of your species. I will make my own choices and find my way. I can be Fallen and still independent; these two are not mutually exclusive. And I can behave in a way different to yours, pick a different path and pave my life how I see fit.” All his features softened like butter stuck in the microwave, and he relocated his hand to Dean’s face. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I apologise for thrusting this upon you, and understand you will need time to adjust, but our relationship is not something you should feel the need to hide. I love you, Dean. I’m indifferent to society’s opinion on this. And, if you’d have me…”He ran the pad of a thumb down Dean’s cheek. “I would stay in your room once more. And I would ensure the experience was just as pleasant for both of us as the first. Even if we are merely sharing the bed again.”

It took Sam a minute to notice he was quite literally on the edge of his seat, and wished he had some popcorn to contribute to the moment. And Dean, like the secretly cheesy dork he was, decided the best way to respond to Cas’ question was to lean forward and press their lips together, foreheads touching and arms encircling the ex-angel’s waist.

Sam grappled between the equally strong urges to burst into fervent applause and make an exagerated display of how grossed out this made him feel. Either way, balloons and streamers, he felt, would have also been appropriate, and maybe a marching band to tie the whole thing together. As it was, he just sat there grinning like some sort of stoned idiot, filled with wave after wave of glee.

It didn’t last long. Around the time where Dean spun Cas round and pressed him against a bookshelf, and Cas started making low, demanding noises in the back of his throat was the time Sam decided he should throw on a jacket and head out for a bit. He wasn’t even sure if they noticed him going out the door.

When he eventually returned the sun had long since set, and he had to scour the place for a while before discovering the two side-by-side on the couch. He wasn’t sure if curled up was the correct term to use, but their hands were entwined, and Dean seemed to have coaxed Cas’ head onto his shoulder. Sam shot him a grin from the doorway, to which he received a discreet flash of the finger in return.

He ventured out into the kitchen, where he encountered Kevin, who grumbled an “About damn time,” before disappearing back into his room with a yogurt clutched in one hand and a spoon in the other. Sam flopped down in front of his laptop, running a hand over the keyboard and smiling to himself. Yeah, those two still had a lot to sort out. Dean had to deal with Cas on hunts and Cas was still finding his own two feet and they’d probably draw out their old-couple bickering until Sam rammed his head into the nearest wall. But all in all, things were starting to look up. And there was no doubt Dean would be up late again tomorrow, and Cas wasn’t sleeping on the couch tonight.


End file.
